We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
21: Hollywood Golf
PRACTICALLY every Sunday for the past twenty-five years I have gone out into the fields and woods to commune with nature, to perform certain rituals and incantations, and to meet with friends as well as enemies in mutual idolatry of a fantastic game called golf.
Recently, in preparation for these pious rites, I had Sunday morning breakfast with a group of golf fanatics in the tertiary or incurable stage. They included Bing ( Groaner ) Crosby, Clark (Muscles) Gable, Randy (The Sheriff) Scott, and several others whose combined fervor, if applied to one mighty swat at a golf ball, would create the largest divot since the atom bomb was dropped on Hiroshima.
Randy Scott possesses a superlative golf swing as well as one of the finest appetites since the Pliocene Age. That morning he was indulging it to the limit. The waiter brought him a stack of wheat cakes that reached almost to his chin; on top of this he placed a side order of two poached eggs and four strips of bacon, then prepared to attack this mammoth meal.
We all stared at the concoction in combined horror and amazement. Clark Gable, who is no mean trencherman himself, exclaimed, "You're not going to eat that!"
"Certainly I'm going to eat it," Randy replied.
"That just demonstrates," commented Crosby, "two extremes in human taste. If you'd stick a feather in it, Menjou would wear it for a hat!"
Crosby will say anything for a laugh, a habit he acquired from associating with Bob Hope. This strangely mistaken belief on his
155